Page 109 - Our Hawker Stories

The first time I encountered ice kachang, it was like
discovering a secret world of flavours. My math tutor
handed me this colourful mountain of shaved ice, and
I remember thinking it looked almost artificial with
its bright syrups and strange toppings. But that first
spoonful changed everything - the way the coarse ice
melted into sweetness, the surprising chew of the red
beans, the way the syrups mixed, creating new flavours
with each bite. I could not stop eating it even when my
teeth started aching from the cold.

At the hawker centre, I met the ice kachang auntie
who had been perfecting her craft longer than I had
been alive. She moved with the precision of someone
who had done this thousands of times. Her hands were
swiftly shaping the ice mound while barely looking at her
work. When I asked questions, her answers were short,
and she was almost annoyed, but there was pride in
how she layered each component. The way she drizzled
the syrups in a specific order revealed this was not just
throwing ingredients together - it was a ritual.
“Behind every icy spoonful of ice kachang
Eating it there and being surrounded by the chaos of the is a quiet story — of tradition, pride, and
hawker centre made me understand why this dessert hawkers who pour their hearts into every
has survived for generations. The contrast between the colourful layer.”
auntie’s gruff exterior and the care in her work mirrored
the dessert itself - rough, shaved ice hiding complex
sweetness beneath. It is more than just something
cold to beat the heat. It is a craft passed down through Batchanaboyina Jahnavi
stubborn, skilled hands that refuse to let traditions P6.3
disappear, even if they would not smile for photos. The North Spring Primary School
flavours stay with you long after the last spoonful, just
like the memory of that frowning auntie who made
something so joyful.

Our Hawker Stories 105